


To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewrite of an old fic: Janos sleeps, but Raziel is the one afraid he might be dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Neofox, who drew the picture that inspired the original version of this fic <3.

Raziel would not sleep.

If truth be told, he did not know if he could. Before he was thrown into the abyss, sleep had been a habit more than a necessity; all but the youngest of fledglings could stay awake forever if it suited them.

He had not had a chance to rest since taking his new form, courtesy of the vampires, humans, demons, and demi-gods vying for his attention, and had given up hope of finding respite.

He dared not sleep now that he had found it. Not because of any looming danger, or fear of waking to violence, but because he feared that closing his eyes would reveal this moment to be a dream. A cruel trick of the mind, one that would see him waking to find he had passed out in some godawful swamp after inhaling spores or gases that clouded reason. Worse still, to find himself back in the abyss.

The softness of the bed beneath him felt too good to be real, and the sight before his eyes seemed even more improbable.

Raziel clutched his share of the bedsheet tight to his chest, inadvertently exposing more of Janos’ back and hip to the air. Thankfully, the ancient’s wings seemed to offer enough warmth that the loss of coverage did not stir him, else Raziel would have been compelled to adjust the bedsheets, risking touching Janos’ skin and proving him to be an illusion.

Janos could not be real. Raziel’s mind was quite insistent on that point; how could anything that beautiful, that perfect, exist? And if it did, how and why would it end up sharing the same bed as him?

Raziel had lived for millennia, time enough to master every language Nosgoth had to offer, but there were no words that could accurately describe Janos. Murals had shown his kind alternately as demons and as angels, capturing a graceful savagery or aloof nobility, but they were caricatures.

Raziel had not known true, selfless empathy in a long time. He had never known a look like Janos had gave him earlier that night, one that in an instant seemed to share his suffering and wish to take it away.

And Janos had given him more than looks.

Janos had reached out to Raziel as if he were made of something precious, not tattered rags of flesh and bone held together by unholy magic, and it hurt to be touched with such tenderness.

Raziel had never forgotten what it felt like to be held, or kissed, or fucked. What he had forgotten, and couldn’t be sure he had ever known, was what it felt like for such actions to mean something.

Janos’ first tentative nuzzle of Raziel’s nose with his lips had made Raziel ache in a way no kiss from Kain before his betrayal ever had. Somewhere in the abyss, the burnt shreds of his heart might have beat.

 

There had been more touch during the night. Words became whispers, Janos shedding his clothes as Raziel volunteered for an act only Janos could complete.

Somehow, it hadn’t felt like a mockery of sex. There was no race to finish, no sense of urgency on Raziel’s part, and that had let him watch Janos’ every change of expression with ease. The loss of a focus for pleasure meant every caress, every strangely placed kiss or lick, felt like unspoiled sun warming what passed for his skin.

Rhythm did not come naturally to them, given that Raziel had no natural inclination to move, and the first few attempts to set one had ended in laughter and the beginning of some interesting bruises on Janos’ chest. Changing positions so that Janos might sit while Raziel rode him had allowed Janos to rest his hands on Raziel’s hips and guide his movements, and Raziel had gladly used what muscles were left to him to help Janos peak.

Raziel had never accepted discomfort so willingly before in his existence, and while he lacked the ability to come, that did not stop the shivers that ran up his spine with Janos’ every movement, or how he cried out in sympathy when Janos came, eyes shut and limbs trembling.

 

Janos had moved to lie on his side afterwards, wings draped half over himself and half over the edge of the bed, regarding Raziel with naked, undisguised affection. Raziel had been unable to tear himself away from that gaze, even if it unsettled him to be regarded as if he were the beautiful one in their bed, and he had found himself clinging to the bedsheets like an anchor.

Much as he was doing now.

He should have tired of staring at Janos after the ancient fell asleep, but no. Every line of Janos’ body fascinated him, from the smooth curve of his neck to the sharp angles of his hips, and he had found himself stroking over his own ragged body in an attempt to remember how it had felt when he possessed flesh, comparing Janos’ shape with what his had been. He could not remember if his throat had been as slender as Janos’, or if his navel had been such a delicate little indent. Vague memories of Kain’s tongue licking down his chest suggested his stomach had been a little more filled out with muscle, but there was something so very appealing about the flatness of Janos’ own.

Taking care not to disturb Janos’ sleep, Raziel reached over carefully and touched the tip of his claw to Janos’ cheek, felt his eyes tighten with a smile he could not give when this made Janos twitch.

Raziel had once overheard an infatuated fledgling referring to him as the most handsome vampire in all of Nosgoth, and he knew full well that he had been the best looking of his brethren. Those looks had disappeared in the abyss, melting away and leaving him a monster that mortals would fear immortalising in a mural. An angel of death, the Elder God had called him.

And if he was an angel of death, what was Janos?

Raziel knew better than to believe in deities after his encounter with the malevolent beast living beneath the Pillars. Kain and Vorador had both eagerly blasphemed by calling their kind dark gods.

Janos was the first creature Raziel had encountered worth worshipping, but he wasn’t divine. The faint purple bruises on his chest were proof of that.

Perhaps it was his own resemblance to a demon that had lead him here. The fact of their meeting was so unlikely it seemed like fate, and Raziel felt a cold sickness wondering what fate meant him to do next.

Janos stirred at the next gentle brush of Raziel’s claw, jerking awake before frowning, looking puzzled.

“Did I wake you?” Raziel asked, apologetic as Janos shifted to sit up, movements sluggish and disoriented.

“No, no.” Janos pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes tight. “I had the strangest dream. Sorry, what are you -” He stopped mid-sentence, rubbed his eyes before smiling. “How long have you been watching me?”

Raziel was glad for his inability to blush as he replied, “I haven’t stopped.”

“You should have slept,” Janos scolded lightly before reaching out for Raziel’s arm, frowning when Raziel flinched despite himself. “Raziel, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Raziel insisted, lost for words before he realised Janos expected no more of him.

“Lie down with me, then,” Janos said, pulling the sheets down and patting the space in front of him, urging Raziel to move closer.

Raziel did as asked, careful not to accidentally touch Janos any more than necessary as he stretched out, and staring when Janos used a claw to tilt his head upwards.

“You have nothing to fear here,” Janos said softly, wrapping an arm around Raziel’s back to hold him in place before shifting forward, bringing their chests together. Raziel could feel the rise and fall of his every breath, the beat of his heart.

A mortal vampire.

“This can’t be real,” Raziel said.

Janos closed his eyes and leaned in, resting his forehead against Raziel’s. “You aren’t the only one who expected to wake up in this bed alone.”

Raziel wrapped his arms around Janos after a moment, feeling the warm solidity of him under his claws, and allowed himself to relax.

“I need you to be real,” Janos said, so quiet it was almost a whisper, and Raziel wondered at the reverence in his tone.

Whatever Janos was, he felt _good_ , and for the first time in millennia, his immortality felt like it might not be a curse.

“Thank you,” he replied, breathing in time with Janos and losing track of those breaths only when he slipped away into a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep.

It had been a long, long time since Raziel had felt anything like hope.


End file.
